


tongue tied

by iwaoist



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friends With Benefits To Lovers, High School Crush, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Miscommunication, Pining, Post-Timeskip, canonverse, implied side atsukita, mentions of smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28429098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwaoist/pseuds/iwaoist
Summary: Osamu's had a crush since high school.Sakusa says he has a proposition for him.What's the worst that can happen?
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 17
Kudos: 58
Collections: UTB Secret Santa 2020





	tongue tied

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yakus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakus/gifts).



“An amazing fast set from Miya Atsumu of MSBY Black Jackals, about to be hit by Hina- hold on, _no_ , it’s a decoy! And it’s _Sakusa Kiyoomi_ who spikes - and scores - the last point of the game! I can confirm MSBY Black Jackals have won three sets straight, bringing them ever closer to the V-League finals.”

“Well, it’s another impressive show from Miya and Sakusa. They’ve become a really formidable duo on the court, and they should definitely keep their eyes open for a spot on the national team. They might be the only worthy rivals to the new monster-duo, Kageyama Tobio and Ushijima Wakatoshi.”

“Yes, they are truly quite the team. It’ll be interesting to see how they continue the rest of this season, but one thing is for sure - I’ll be very concerned if they aren’t in the finals.”

“Agreed, they’re truly a remarkable pair. They’ve both been playing for a long time, and they’re only at the beginning of their professional careers. It’s going to be interesting to see where this pair goes within the V-League, because for now it seems like the only way is up.”

The commentary discussion isn’t loud, but Miya Osamu can hear it clearly in the quiet of the empty Miya Onigiri restaurant as he finishes preparing for the next day’s opening. His laptop is placed precariously on the counter among the array of papers and financial logs scattered across the surface. He doesn’t mind doing all the business work himself, sometimes. Less messy, less staff to pay, less time wasted. But God, is it boring.

He’ll be getting a call any minute from Atsumu, he knows it. He always gets a call after every game, Atsumu relaying every set to him like Osamu hadn’t been watching the whole time. He’ll never admit that he hasn’t once missed one of Atsumu’s games - not when they played together, not now since Atsumu has gone pro either. 

It’s ten, maybe fifteen minutes before the call comes. 

“‘Samu, did you see that last toss? God, we’re playing so good this season.”

“Hello to you too.” Osamu’s tone is bored, but he certainly isn’t. He lives for the play-by-plays that his twin gives him; he feels like he’s still out there, on the court, by his brother’s side. He still feels like his brother’s best weapon, even if he’s not playing anymore.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anyway. Celebration drinks tonight, you’re coming.”

“No, I’m not.”

“See, you say that but I know for a fact that you have a day off tomorrow, so you have time to nurse your hangover - and I know that you’re most likely going to go home and do nothing but eat the shop’s leftovers, watch TV and then sleep. So, you boring fucker, you’re coming out with us! Get ready, we’re picking you up on the way.” 

He hates it when Atsumu is right.

-

Osamu tries to get his appearance together, but between finishing the finances for the business, getting back to his apartment and showering, he isn’t left with much time to preen himself. Dressed well but casually, he hopes that he fits in amongst the various members of the MSBY Black Jackals team and their various significant others. 

His well built chest is encased in one of his nicer shirts - a simple black fitted tee (though this one without his business logo) and a pair of jeans that he knows draws the attention of many around him. He isn’t looking for anything of _that_ nature tonight, but a tiny ego boost never goes amiss after a long day at work. After all, it’s not like he doesn’t like the attention - he was popular enough in high school. 

He supposes he’s had more than a few romantic encounters over the years, but he doesn’t really have the desire or time to pursue anything more meaningful than a few steamy kisses with strangers. He’ll settle for a few lingering looks from the other patrons of whatever bar Atsumu and the Jackals drag him to. 

His train of thought is disrupted by the sound of his phone ringing again. Atsumu’s contact picture, a particularly ugly-looking shot of Atsumu mid-sneeze that had been set years ago, flashes on the screen and he lets out a sigh.

“What _now_?” is the response Osamu gives, answering his twin’s video call as he runs a little product through his hair. 

“Jeez, who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?” Atsumu jabs, that oh-so familiar grin on his face already. “Anyway, remember - you promised you would wingman me tonight. I’m bored and I want to celebrate properly.”

“If ‘celebrating properly’ means fucking some random person from a club, I’m not sure I want to be invited to these things anymore. Also, I never agreed to that. Even a little bit.”

“Shut the fuck up, ‘Samu.” Osamu can see Atsumu roll his eyes, before continuing. Atsumu recently touched his hair up again, the golden waves styled to be just the right kind of messy. It makes Osamu nostalgic for days of bleach and toner in Kita Shinsuke’s bathroom. “No, I’m bored and I always get more attention when you’re here. Maybe it’s the comparison between the two of us. You automatically make me seem so much better.”

“Or maybe they see me, realise they can’t have me, so settle for you. You _are_ the shitty twin, after all,” Osamu quips back, his voice bored as he finishes getting ready for the evening ahead. 

He considers why Atsumu wants him to be a wingman when he knows about Atsumu’s not-so-secret pining for their former teammate, and the tab he keeps open with travel plans to visit a certain rice farm. He decides not to bring it up - that’s a weird discussion for another time. “Look, I don’t want to get too drunk, but whatever - I’ll ‘wingman’ you, whatever that entails. Fucking idiot.”

“Thank you, my darling brother.”

“I hope you choke on a tequila shot and die.”

-

The time between getting ready and Atsumu pressing the buzzer to his apartment is spent quickly scoffing some instant noodles and setting out a glass of water for himself later. He isn’t old by any means, but hangovers come easier than they used to. He sets out some vitamins for good measure and by that point, the incessant buzzing that signals Atsumu’s arrival starts. 

Grabbing his wallet and keys, he checks himself out in the mirror by the door once more before exiting. It’s not like he’s trying to impress anyone, he just wants to not stick out like a sore thumb in a room of attractive professional athletes, and his brother. 

“Fucking finally, it’s freezing out here,” is the first thing that Atsumu says. Osamu has half a mind to kick him in the shin and return to the warmth of his apartment. He doesn’t, instead rolls his eyes and pushes past him. He’s surprised when he sees it’s Sakusa Kiyoomi’s car on the sidewalk, but he isn’t disappointed. At least Sakusa is normal. Ish. And won’t drive under the influence. 

Atsumu shoves Osamu towards the passenger door, climbing into the back (where Hinata and Bokuto are belting out the lyrics to a song that is almost certainly not the one playing from the car’s bluetooth speakers).

It’s awkward as he sits in the passenger seat, but he sanitises his hands when prompted by Sakusa, and greets him with a friendly smile. “Hey.”

“Hi. If your brother throws up in my car I’ll murder him.”

“I’ll help you hide the body.”

He isn’t sure, but Osamu thinks he sees a small smile on Sakusa’s lips in the dark of the car. He’s surprised, but it isn’t an unwelcome sight. He takes note of his appearance: tightly fitted shirt, black jeans, the curls of his hair swept to one side. He looks good, even if he hasn’t changed that much since high school. 

He doubts Sakusa even remembers meeting him, especially when their encounter was likely eclipsed by Atsumu bickering with Sakusa.

Osamu remembers, though.

He’d snuck away from the rest of his team, feigning going to the bathroom to instead call his mother. He told her he was quitting volleyball, and wanted to pursue being a chef. She was supportive, but he could tell it wasn’t what his parents had hoped for him.

He’d thought he was alone in the empty bathroom, as he was trying not to cry about no one fully supporting his dream. He’d thought he was safe in private, away from anyone who might make him feel less secure in himself at the sight of his tears. He’d thought he had time to process it alone.

Fate had other plans, it seemed, and that’s how Osamu ended up using a neatly pressed handkerchief to wipe his red eyes, with Sakusa Kiyoomi stiffly but reassuringly telling him it was going to be okay.

“Professional volleyball isn’t for everyone. If I’m honest, it makes sense to me that you’d quit. The whole thing you have going on with your brother — how’s that gonna last if you don’t play for the same team?”

“I don’t know. Guess we’ll never find out.”

“I guess not.” Sakusa shrugged. Osamu knew that the other was under no obligation to be nice to him, yet he had been. The kindness of strangers is often more powerful than the kindness of loved ones, and Osamu wouldn’t forget this moment as the start of his feelings for the foul-tempered, stony-faced spiker with an aversion to germs.

They spoke for a little. Sakusa asked him what his plan was after high school, if it wasn’t volleyball. Osamu explained his passion for food, for feeding people and providing for them. Sakusa wrinkled his nose a little at the proposed name for the business - _Onigiri Miya_. Osamu pretended it didn’t bruise his ego a little when he saw Sakusa’s distaste.

The black-haired city boy didn’t completely shut him down, though. “Hm. Well, I fucking hate onigiri, but if I’m ever in your neck of the woods, I’ll stop by for something less… touched. You better open it, now. You owe me a free meal.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sakusa.”

Sakusa left the bathroom after wringing his hands together and using the sanitiser thoroughly.

Osamu had a crush for the rest of high school. Sakusa signed with MSBY Black Jackals soon enough.

Osamu is jarred back to the present by Sakusa telling him to put on his seatbelt, because ‘I’m only interested in murdering one of the Miya twins, and it’s not you’. Osamu snorts at this, but complies with the request, slipping the seatbelt around him and sitting up properly.

The drive isn’t long, but it’s quiet on the part of Osamu and Sakusa, with the raucous trio behind them causing enough havoc that Osamu doesn’t want to distract Sakusa from driving too much more. His fingers play with his keys, twirling them around his fingers, but when he notices Sakusa shooting him a glare, he stops abruptly. Sakusa seems to remember that he isn’t Atsumu, because his eyes widen for a flash, before immediately averting back to the road. 

“Sorry, I—”

“Thought I was _that_ dipshit, didn’t you?” Osamu nods his head back towards the rear of the car, wherein the three boisterous boys are causing havoc; the trio are laughing, drinking and probably pushing Sakusa’s patience to the brink as he drives. Osamu almost pities Sakusa for having to spend his working days with them, but then remembers the service ace competition Sakusa has with Atsumu. He must be just as bad, sometimes. 

He would like to see Sakusa having fun, he thinks.

“Yeah, my bad.”

“It happens, when you share a face,” Osamu jokes, aiming to lighten the mood. As Sakusa exhales sharply in a not-quite chuckle, it’s clear that it half works. 

The tension dissipates, but Sakusa’s response is still somewhat serious. “I never got that. You’re twins, but you’re still individual people. Like, you don’t exist only in context with each other, but people kind of treat you like you do.”

“Well, yeah. It’s weird. It’s not all bad, though - got him to take my Physics exam and I did his Biology one. Even with the dyed hair, people still mixed us up.”

“I bet.” He doesn’t seem all that surprised, and Osamu briefly ponders whether or not Sakusa has thought about him as much as Osamu has thought about him since high school.

Their conversation is interrupted by a tipsy, whining Atsumu. The four of them, though more likely just the three without Sakusa, had probably started the celebrations early back at the dorms. “God, are we there yet? I need a drink. And you two fuckers are really killing the vibe.”

Osamu and Sakusa shoot Atsumu matching glares, and that definitely makes Sakusa laugh. It’s a little one, barely audible if it weren’t for Osamu being directly next to him. Osamu thinks that if his high school self was here, he’d probably shit himself at being part of the reason that _Sakusa Kiyoomi_ laughed.

He ignores the thought, shaking his head at his brother’s idiocy. It turns out that they are actually at their destination, or at least where Sakusa abandons his car for the night. They’ve all agreed that they’ll get a cab back together, dropping Osamu at his apartment on the way to the MSBY dorms. It makes sense, but for some reason Osamu thinks Sakusa driving them all there might just give him an easy escape route later on in the night.

He hopes that Sakusa doesn’t take it. 

-

The bar is dimly lit and moderately grubby, and from the moment the five of them set foot inside, Osamu can tell that Sakusa is on edge. 

Hands in his pockets and mask pulled up firmly over his strong jaw, his eyes flit around the room. Osamu thinks that if he wasn’t staring, he wouldn’t have been able to pick up the tension that everyone else seems not to notice. He doesn’t say anything, but he keeps an eye on Sakusa for a while after that. 

Osamu treats himself to a craft beer as he pretends to listen to the buzz of conversation between the entire MSBY Black Jackals team as they fill out the booths at the back of the bar. He sips at it, determined to get tipsy at least, even if it’s harder to hide his crush while intoxicated. 

Osamu babbles somewhat when he’s drunk; he doesn’t want to give his twin the joy of being able to embarrass him, but he needs something to take the edge off and make this evening pass a little easier. 

Sakusa stands to one side and Osamu can’t peel his eyes away. He doesn’t for a while, and it’s only when Bokuto accidentally spills part of his drink down Osamu’s front that his gaze shifts. He assures Bokuto that it’s okay, that he doesn’t mind, but he’s a little pissed that he hasn’t even been here an hour yet and he’s already sticky with alcohol that isn’t his. 

He makes an excuse, dipping out the side door to the alleyway outside the dive bar. He’s alone, out of the thrum of the shitty music and even shittier conversation. Pulling a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, he slides one between his lips and lights it with a flick of his matte-black Zippo.

Inhale, pull the thick smoke into his lungs, hold it, exhale. 

He isn’t proud of his habit picked up out of a mixture of stress and curiosity. He knows that if Atsumu finds out, he’ll be on the receiving end of an ass-beating so vicious he won’t be able to see straight for a week. The nicotine buzz still makes his head a little fuzzy sometimes - the rush of chemicals addictive, dampening the frayed edges of his nerves and synthetically calming him. He tries not to indulge too often, but he can’t help it. Not on nights like tonight. Not when everything is so loud and messy and _Sakusa Kiyoomi_ is there looking like he just stepped out of a magazine or Osamu’s thoughts, whichever is filthier. 

It’s like the universe takes pity on him, or wants him to suffer, because no sooner has Osamu _finally_ stopped thinking about what it would feel like to drag his teeth across the expanse of Sakusa’s beauty-marked throat, does he see Sakusa walk out into the cool night air in the alleyway. Sakusa freezes in place, clearly not expecting to see anyone.

“I thought you were in the bathroom.” His body is tense, fists clenched at his sides. Osamu thinks it’s odd, that he reacts like Osamu is about to kick his ass or something, but he doesn’t say anything on the matter.

In fact, Osamu is silent, exhaling a breath of smoke with a guilty look.

“Oh. You’re - that’s gross.”

“I know.”

Neither of them move. Neither of them look away. Their eyes are locked, and Osamu takes another drag, as if he’s daring Sakusa to comment on it, daring him to tell him how disgusting it is.

He doesn’t though. He makes Osamu an offer, instead.

“How about I don’t tell your brother if you don’t tell him about me sneaking away?”

“I wasn’t going to anyway, Sakusa. What do you take me for?” Osamu shakes his head lightly, a tight smile on his lips. His gaze still doesn’t shift away from Sakusa’s the whole time, even as he takes another long drag and the smoke burns at the back of his throat. 

“I don’t know,” Sakusa replies. Osamu knows he’s being honest. He always is, whenever they have their brief interactions. 

“Do me a favour?” Osamu asks, voice low in the cold night air. He’s staring again. They both know it.

“What is it?”

“Stay for a bit. Just keep me company, and then when I go back inside you can sneak away. I’ll cover for you with my brother, keep him out of your hair.”

Sakusa squints at him. He’s weighing it up, clearly, and to Osamu’s relief, there’s a small nod of his head. Osamu likes the way Sakusa’s curls fall into his eyes for a second, and has to clench his fist to stop himself from stepping forward and brushing the unruly strands out of Sakusa’s eyes. He’s not intoxicated enough to get away with it, and they’re almost strangers. 

Sakusa doesn’t speak for a little while, just standing with Osamu as he goes through the same familiar motions of inhaling and exhaling cigarette smoke. Osamu speaks first. “How come you agreed to come, anyway?” It’s a surprise to see Sakusa at a team outing of this nature and it puzzles Osamu that he even deigned to show his face.

“Atsumu called me boring and said I don’t know how to have fun.” Sakusa seems a little embarrassed by his answer, his ears pink as he glares into space. Osamu thinks it’s cute. “I was about to remind him that fun is relative to everyone, when he said that he’d bet me I wouldn’t come with them tonight.”

“And you couldn’t say no to a dare?” Osamu cocks an eyebrow, lips quirking up into a smile. He knows Sakusa is competitive - how could he not be? - but the fact that his brother can rile him up to attending a dirty bar somewhere in the most childish way tickles him. It’s oddly sweet, and it reassures him to know that his brother is being as much of a pain at work as he is at home. He isn’t the only one suffering.

“And I couldn’t say no to a dare,” Sakusa confirms, shrugging slightly. Osamu notices that his mask is pulled around his chin, and Osamu can see the way his mouth quirks up slightly at the corners. “Why are _you_ here? It’s not like you have to be, and you kind of seem like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

“My brother is annoying. Asked me to wingman him when, first of all, I know he’s going to get drunk and make out with Bokuto, Hinata, or both - _and_ he’s still got the most embarrassing crush on our friend back home.”

“Ojiro?”

“No, our former captain. Kita Shinsuke.”

“Huh, interesting. I remember him.”

“Yeah, he’s a good guy. Way too good for my brother. I’m kind of tired of them dancing around the fact they like each other.”

“I suppose when you’ve been crushing on someone a long time, it’s hard to know whether it’s worth taking the risk and doing something about it. Especially if you’re friends.” Osamu looks over at Sakusa as the spiker speaks, and notices he’s staring pointedly at the ground. 

_Ah, so he has a crush on someone._

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” Osamu comments. He doesn’t allow himself to sound bitter - he’s got too much control over his eternal crush on Sakusa Kiyoomi to be irritated when there’s someone else Sakusa might feel something for.

“I’m not _not_ speaking from experience. But my situation is different.”

“Wanna talk about it?” He’s being polite, but more than anything - Osamu wants to _know_. He has a thirst for knowledge when it comes to Sakusa Kiyoomi, and he wants to drink from the oasis of his thoughts. 

“No, actually. How about you tell me about you?” Sakusa is taking an interest in Osamu. Osamu doesn’t know how to handle it. He isn’t that drunk, but he wants to step forward and kiss him until neither of them know their own names. He doesn’t. 

“Me?”

“Yeah. We’re acquaintances, right? But I don’t really know much about you, other than you’re Atsumu’s twin and you own your business.”

“I guess that does pretty much sum me up.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Sakusa gives him a look, and for a second Osamu thinks he’s pissed him off. “I told you earlier. You exist outside the context of your brother. And - your business is cool and all, I’m sure, but it doesn’t really say much about you, other than that you like rice, I guess. And we’re Japanese. Everyone likes rice.”

Osamu thinks it over, wondering how on earth he’s gotten into a situation where Sakusa is trying to get to know him. He’s grateful for it, even if he isn’t sure how he got here. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Anything. Everything. We’ve got time.” Another small smile, and Osamu feels blessed.

Osamu sighs a little, but nods. “I guess… well, you know about volleyball. I still play, sometimes. Not much. I like cooking, but I can’t bake for shit. I don’t like partying that much anymore. I feel old a lot of the time. Sometimes I wonder if I should have gone to culinary school. I don’t know if I’m on the right path, but at this point I won’t give Atsumu the satisfaction of him being right about me regretting not going pro.”

Sakusa listens. Osamu watches for his reactions, taking in every tiny movement and reaction that he has to offer. He wonders if Sakusa will remember this moment in the future.

“I think it’s admirable.”

“What?”

“You. Starting your business. Not going pro.” Sakusa pauses, his eyes flickering up from the ground to Osamu’s as he continues. “You’re living your own life. Not that it wouldn’t have been fun to play with you. Or against you. But somehow, this fits you a little more.”

“And just how would you know what ‘fits’ me? You said yourself, you barely know me.”

“I know more than you might think.” 

Osamu’s cigarette is burnt down to the filter and he drops it on the floor, stubbing it out with the toe of his shoe. The two of them stare at each other for a few beats too long, and Sakusa takes his cue to leave. The terms had been fulfilled, so why would he stay?

“Have a good night, Osamu,” is the only ‘goodbye’ that Osamu receives. His head spins slightly from the encounter, even if he isn’t sure if it’s from the nicotine rush or from Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

-

Osamu is the one surprised by Sakusa’s presence, this time. 

He lets himself into his twin’s apartment that he shares with Hinata and Bokuto in the MSBY dorms, using the spare key that he’s almost certainly not meant to have. He’s calling through to his brother, waxing poetic about how his brother shouldn’t drink so copiously if he can’t handle the consequences. He’s midway through a particularly colourful string of curses at his twin’s expense as he enters the kitchen area, where Atsumu sits with Sakusa, the pair of them trying to hide their laughter.

_Well, that’s embarrassing._

“Uh, sorry. Didn’t realise you were here, Sakusa.”

“Evidently.” That barely perceptible smirk, back again. Osamu’s head feels dizzy and weak with embarrassment. Sakusa can probably tell, can probably work out he was flustered- 

“So, what did you want, ‘Samu? Why did you interrupt my lovely bonding session with my teammate?” Atsumu teases as he sits back in his chair. It jarrs Osamu from his spiralling thoughts, and for the first time in months he’s grateful for his brother’s ability to be annoying in any situation.

“You told me to come by, bringing food. I even made you fatty tuna, you dumb fuck.”

“Did I?”

“Yes?”

“Oh, because I remember asking you to drop me off dinner tonight, after I finish hanging out with Omi-kun. So how about that?”

“Fuck you, ‘Tsumu. I’m never bringing you free food again. In fact, I’m gonna beat your ass and then tell Kita.”

“Hey!”

Two pairs of eyes land on Atsumu, who’s whole demeanour shifts from playful to defensive in a split second. 

“Just don’t talk to Kita.”

Osamu’s eyebrows quirk upwards, but he stays silent. A few heavy moments pass, but Osamu just exchanges a quick glance with Sakusa before changing the subject. 

“Sorry, Sakusa. If I’d known you were here, I’d have brought you some food too. I’ll owe you one, if you come to the restaurant some time.” Osamu shoots him a polite smile before setting the bag of food out in front of his twin. Whatever was wrong with Atsumu, a plate of fatty tuna would surely fix it.

“It’s no bother, honestly. I’m not much for onigiri.”

“I know, but you like umeboshi, right? I’ll fix you up something I don’t need to touch as much.” Osamu shrugs, trying to play it off as casual. Really, he was being a little desperate, begging for Sakusa to visit him, but he hoped it didn’t come across as that pathetic.

“You… yeah, that sounds good.” Sakusa gives Osamu a strange look. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s an expression that Osamu hasn’t seen on Sakusa’s face before. It’s almost wary, but in a childlike sort of way - like at any given moment, Osamu could pull the rug out from underneath him. Osamu studies him for a second, eyes lingering as they stay locked with Sakusa’s. Osamu offers him a smile, warm and comforting, and then he’s brought back to reality by Atsumu and his innate ability to disrupt any kind of tender moment he comes across. 

“Whatever. Anyway, don’t you two start bonding. I don’t want you arguing about who hits my tosses better.” 

“As if anyone would care enough to argue about that, Miya,” Sakusa mutters, his lips barely quirking up - but Osamu sees it. 

He sees the playfulness that’s hidden under layers of cotton face masks and internal barriers, but Osamu stays quiet. He commits the expression to memory, filing it neatly away - he doesn’t want to forget. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever see it again. 

The afternoon is spent in more of the same way - Atsumu saying something obnoxious, because he can and he likes being irritating to the people he’s closest to, Sakusa or Osamu calling him out on it and the other one laughing (or exhaling a little harsher than usual, in Sakusa’s case). It’s not unpleasant, Osamu thinks, to spend time with the two of them like this. 

His mind drifts - he thinks of beauty-marked skin, of spiker’s hands, of sharp eyebrows furrowing every time Atsumu or himself says something stupid. He doesn’t stop thinking, even if he should be more focused on the here and now. He can’t stop, not when this is the longest stretch of time he’s ever spent with the person he’s had a crush on since his adolescence. It isn’t easy to stay present, when there are so many Sakusa-isms to commit to memory, to painfully _sear_ into his memory so he doesn’t forget for a second of any part of him. 

The evening draws in. With each passing minute, the sun hangs lower in the sky and the dim lighting of Atsumu’s home in the MSBY dorms casts shadows over the planes of Sakusa’s face. Osamu notices the height of his cheekbones, the way his cupid’s bow is sharp, the way his upper lip is the tiniest part asymmetrical with a tiny, yet quite prominent freckle around a centimeter from the corner of his mouth. Osamu doesn’t let himself consider what it would be like to kiss that spot - not yet, anyway. That’s a thought for when he isn’t next to Sakusa, or Atsumu for that matter. 

“I should go.” The quiet of the room is disturbed by Sakusa. Osamu is displeased, but doesn’t show it. “It’s getting late, and I have some stuff to do before I go to bed. Miya, don’t forget we have early practice in the morning. And don’t rely on Hinata to wake you up, otherwise you’ll both sleep in again and I am _not_ covering for you.”

Osamu hides a smile - the way Sakusa interacts with his brother is funny to him. It’s like they’d been teammates for years, rather than a few months. They’re familiar, and Osamu wonders if there are people who were born to work together, to be a team. If there are, Sakusa and Atsumu are surely it. 

“I’ll come with you.” 

Atsumu looks at Osamu, and Osamu pretends he doesn’t notice it. His brother’s gaze isn’t accusatory, but Osamu is scared to meet it anyway, in case he notices. In case he _knows_.

“Yeah, sure. Are you parked downstairs?” Sakusa agrees, and Osamu’s chest swells with a pride that is wholly undeserved. 

“Yeah.” Osamu nods. He shoots an awkward smile at his brother as he pulls his hoodie on. “Mom says call her, by the way.”

“Whatever, fine.” Atsumu rolls his eyes, but pulls his phone out of his pocket as he stands, walking them both to the door. Osamu leaves his tupperware behind, and he only realises later on, way after he’s home alone. He’s a little too preoccupied with the presence of Sakusa Kiyoomi.

In the here and now, Osamu follows close behind Sakusa as they gather their various belongings, sliding their shoes on by the door in a not uncomfortable silence. It’d be better described as peaceful, or content - there was nothing stressful, nothing anxious, and Osamu wonders if this is how he’d feel around Sakusa at all times if they spent more than a few passing moments in each other’s presence on a regular basis. 

Atsumu bids them goodbye, his phone already pressed to his ear and the shrill, but loving, nagging of their mother cascading tinnily into the quiet of the apartment. Atsumu waves at them, focusing more on trying to butter up their mother so she doesn’t come over to hit him over the head with one of her slippers for not returning her calls all week.

The door is shut behind them roughly with a kick from Atsumu, and then it’s just Osamu and Sakusa in the quiet of the apartment building. 

“Um, I’m taking the stairs. I don’t do enclosed spaces.” Sakusa mumbles. Osamu thinks he looks a little sheepish, but he can’t be quite certain. He hasn’t documented this expression yet.

“I don’t mind coming with you.”

Then that smile is back. Barely, and for the duration of the flap of a butterfly’s wing, but it’s there. Osamu sees the way his eyes crinkle at the corner, despite his inability to really pinpoint what those depths hold, what they’re trying so hard not to communicate to him. 

They descend the stairs together. Their paces match, and Osamu notices that Sakusa’s legs are much longer than his. He’s holding back, slowing himself down for his sake. It’s sweet and it burns and he tries hard not to attribute any meaning at all to it. 

“I’m glad you made the mistake earlier.” 

“Huh?” Osamu cringes at how oafish he sounds, unsure of what Sakusa is referring to. Did he commit some faux pas he wasn’t aware of? Did he mess up? 

“When you turned up. You were supposed to come over to your brother’s later on, right? I just meant it was… nice. To see you.” 

Osamu dares not say anything in return for a few steps. They reach the next landing of the stairwell before Osamu collects his thoughts. 

“Well, me too.”

_Is that seriously the best I could come up with?_

Sakusa says nothing in response, which isn’t surprising. What is surprising is the accidental brush of a gloved hand against his as they turn the corner to descend the next flight of stairs. It’s enthralling, and Osamu hates how he feels like the protagonist in an old-fashioned movie, where the main couple go stir-crazy at the sight of a naked ankle or the stealing of glances across the room. He doesn’t think about Sakusa’s pretty waist in a corset. Not even a little bit.

“You’re funny.”

It’s a compliment, and it’s from Sakusa Kiyoomi. It makes Osamu’s head spin, and he hates that his ears feel warm. He knows exactly how stupid it is, too - if anyone else had said it, _anyone else_ , he would have grinned and played it off with a joke. But because it’’s Sakusa, it renders him unable to grasp at his thoughts. It is impossible and it is delightful and honestly, Osamu isn’t sure if he’s even going to make it back to his car in one piece. 

They enter the underground parking lot in the same comfortable silence they left the apartment in. Osamu nods towards his car, and Sakusa thumbs over his shoulder towards the familiar sight of his own car. It had come out unscathed from the last time they’d seen each other - thanks only to Sakusa’s strategic escape, Osamu is sure. 

“Well.”

“Well?”

“ _Well_ , I’ll see you around, Osamu.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Osamu is staring, again. That tiny freckle is haunting him, but when his eyes drag themselves back up to Sakusa’s, he finds they’re trained on him a little lower than eye-level - they're locked on his lips, as they wrap around the words of his response, and Osamu dares to think - _does he think that my lips are as pretty as his are?_

There are no more words exchanged, but Osamu sees that smile again when Sakusa knows that he’s been caught. It’s dizzying, and it’s the first time that Sakusa has ever looked at him in this way. It makes Osamu feel like his flesh is burning; a deep heat that comes from the very depths of his chest, roasting him and keeping him warm for what feels like could be forever.

Sakusa might be known for the power of his spikes, of his flexible palms - but Osamu will remember him for the power of his smile.

-

It’s a few days later. He’s finished work, and his phone rings as he closes up shop and pulls the shutters down over the front door. He doesn’t need to look to know it’s Atsumu. Outsiders might call it twin telepathy, but really it’s just that no one calls him other than Atsumu or his parents, and his parents had called him at lunchtime. By process of elimination, the answer is clear. 

“What do you want?”

“Is that any way to treat your favourite brother?”

“You’re not Aran.”

“That hurts. But also, yeah. I get it.” Atsumu snorts, and it reminds Osamu of being sixteen and dealing with Atsumu all day every day at school and practice and home. Osamu isn’t sure when it became a rarity to spend the day with his brother, but he tries not to think too hard. “Anyway, I’m calling to ask something.”

“Shoot.”

“Omiomi - sorry, _Kiyoomi-kun_ . His family are having some _thing_ and he wanted your number, something about catering. I know you don’t really do that kinda thing, but I remembered that his family is loaded, and he was very adamant. So, can I pass your number on?”

“Uh-”

“Just think of that sweet, sweet, Tokyo rich boy money. Doesn’t that sound good, huh?”

“Yes, but-”

“Great, I’ll give him your number. Anyway, I gotta go. Kita’s calling. Bye-eeeeeeee.” Atsumu stretches out the last vowel, like the girls at school used to when they copied the American teen dramas. It’s a little funny, Osamu will admit that much to himself.

The phone call ends before Osamu can even say his goodbye. He pockets his phone, laughing and shaking his head as he finishes locking up the shop. He checks, double checks, triple checks, and then he’s satisfied. Just about. 

It’s a short walk to his car, but by the time he’s unlocking the driver’s side door, his phone buzzes with a text. As he’s sliding into his seat and buckling up his seatbelt with one hand, he checks the message - it’s from an unknown number.

**From:** Unknown

 **Received:** 20:48

I have a proposition for you.

**From:** Unknown

 **Received:** 20:49

It’s Sakusa Kiyoomi, by the way. Your brother passed on your number to me.

Osamu sighs. He doesn’t know how to explain that he doesn’t do event catering, and isn’t interested in starting - he’s got his hands full with the level of business he’s already operating at, plus the food truck that follows the Black Jackals when they play away games. 

He saves Sakusa’s number with shaky hands - he knows that somewhere in his brain, his younger self is uncontrollably shouting about the fact that he has _Sakusa Kiyoomi_ ’s phone number, and that Sakusa texted _him_ first. Wanted _his_ number first. 

**To:** Sakusa Kiyoomi

 **Sent:** 20:51

I don’t know what Atsumu told you, but I don’t have the capacity for catering at the moment. I’m glad you thought of me, though.

The three dots of anxiety show up on Osamu’s phone immediately - _is Sakusa staring at his phone, waiting for my response?_

**From:** Sakusa Kiyoomi

 **Sent:** 20:51

I lied to Atsumu. It’s not about catering.

Osamu’s interest is piqued, even more than it already is. He raises an eyebrow, even if Sakusa can’t see it. 

**To:** Sakusa Kiyoomi

 **Sent:** 20:52

So what’s up? 

**To:** Sakusa Kiyoomi

 **Sent:** 20:52

What’s your proposition about, I mean lmao

**From:** Sakusa Kiyoomi

 **Sent:** 20:53

It’s about how bad you want to kiss me.

Osamu chokes. He gasps for air in the driver’s seat of his parked car, his eyes wide and panic sweeping through his entire body like a shocking, paralysing chill. He just stares at the message, praying that he’s wrong. 

**To:** Sakusa Kiyoomi

 **Sent:** 20:56

Huh?

**From:** Sakusa Kiyoomi

 **Sent:** 20:56

Meet me at my place in an hour

The tightness in his chest when Sakusa smiled at him is back, except it’s clawing at his throat. It’s painful - rough and scratchy, as he tries to breathe through what he can only assume is a panic attack brewing deep in his core. Osamu goes into autopilot, throwing his phone on the passenger seat and begins the short drive home. His apartment isn’t far at all, and he thanks his lucky stars for that as he finds he has enough time to shower off a day’s worth of sweat from a busy day in the kitchen and running around, holding the store together by a thread. He’s quick and methodical in the shower, and he refuses to consider the idea that he’s cleaning himself up in case _something_ happens. 

Nonetheless, he follows the directions that Sakusa sends to him. He’s even a little early, and he pops a piece of chewing gum into his mouth. The burn of the menthol is a welcome respite from the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Osamu scoffs a little to himself when he reads the tagged-on message that Kiyoomi sends after his address - _it’s the penthouse, by the way._ He knows Sakusa isn’t bragging, because it isn’t like Sakusa is bothered much at all about being rich, or having status - but only rich people have the privilege to not think about their own wealth in that way. It both pisses off Osamu and makes him want to kiss this rich boy until he’s weak, until he can’t think of _anything_.

Osamu takes the elevator. It’s a minute or so of travelling up and up, faint rumbling as he ascends. He wonders if this - the rich boy lifestyle, the cold king in his sky high palace - ever gets old for Sakusa, but he supposes not, when he could have easily lived with his teammates but instead decided to get his own place, even if it was less convenient and less economical. He thinks about how Sakusa keeps distance between himself and everyone, even those he’s closest to, but here he is. He’s the one inviting Osamu in, he’s the one breaking the ice, he’s the one making the first move. Whatever he wants from Osamu… he _wants_ and for this moment, that’s enough to make Osamu feel like he’s glowing. 

His feet guide him forward. It doesn’t matter, because he knows that his destination is a professional volleyball player, made up of snark and sexiness abundant. That, and the only door that leads to an apartment is the one that belongs to Sakusa. He knows this, and he stands outside like a fool, regardless. 

Osamu cringes at how forceful his knocks on the door seemed, and hopes that he doesn’t come across as desperate, or angry, or something. If anything, he just wants to know what’s going through Sakusa’s mind.

Sakusa opens the front door. It isn’t a grand gesture; it’s friendly, in the cold way that Sakusa is always friendly to him. The atmosphere isn’t unpleasant - as he slips off his shoes, Osamu notices that Sakusa’s home is rather cosy, decorated cleanly. He was expecting all minimalist furnishings, black and white, but instead he meets warmth. The living room is all he can see at the moment, but everything is cream and beige and brown - it’s comforting, and kind of reminds Osamu of his parents’ house. He likes it. He tries not to let himself get too comfortable.

Sakusa ushers him towards one side of the sofa and Osamu sits obediently as he watches, wary but willing. 

“What’s going on, Sakusa?”

Sakusa makes a small noise - half-hum, half-sigh - as he watches Osamu. He’s sitting on the same sofa as Osamu, and Osamu feels his close proximity make his hair stand on end. He thinks it feels like being outside right before a storm, when the air feels thick with tension and the atmosphere feels… ancient. Magical, but not necessarily benevolent. 

Sakusa speaks, eventually. It’s soft, but not pleading. “I told you. I have a proposition for you.”

Osamu watches him. He’s silent, because he can’t bring himself to speak. He can’t risk saying something he’ll regret.

Sakusa seems to infer that Osamu isn’t going to talk, so he continues. “You’re attracted to me, right?”

“Why’d you think that?” 

“Because for as long as I can remember, every time we’ve ever had a conversation you always look at my lips. Or my neck. Or my hands. Most of the time, it’s my hands. You like it best when I touch my throat, or when I push my hair back. It makes you look at me like you’re having to hold yourself back from ruining me. Once, I touched your waist as I brushed past you and you couldn’t _look_ at me for the rest of the night. Shall I continue?” Sakusa’s eyebrow raises, his beauty-marked skin shifting. 

Osamu, on the other hand, has his lips tightly pressed together. His hands are resting on his own thighs, gripping firmly as he tries to think. “ _No_.”

“Okay. Well, my proposition - feel free to say no, alright?”

“Tell me what it is.” Osamu’s voice is strained. It feels like the weight of the world is resting on his throat, choking him slowly as he waits to be let in on the secret. He wants to say _‘yes, yes I will do anything you ask me to, I will do anything for you’_ but he doesn’t. He thinks it, repeating it in his head like a mantra, or a prayer.

“I want you to fuck me.”

The oxygen is stolen from Osamu’s lungs as he blinks at Sakusa. He says nothing, immobilised by the way Kiyoomi’s lips wrap around the filthy words. He makes them sound easy, like he’s asking about Osamu’s day - for a second, Osamu thinks he would be similarly devastated by Sakusa caring about him that way - rather than asking for something so… personal. So intimate. 

“Osamu?” 

Osamu realises he’s just been staring at Sakusa. He hasn’t replied at all, just looking at that infuriatingly pretty face as he tries to process the fact that Sakusa wants to have sex with him. He wants _Osamu_. Even if it isn’t what Osamu wants from Sakusa - because from Sakusa, he wants everything that Sakusa will let him take - he knows he’s going to end up agreeing to it eventually. 

“Why?” It’s the only thing Osamu can think to ask, and he hates the way Sakusa averts his eyes immediately. Osamu wants to stare into them, watching his emotions change and adapt with each response. Sakusa is right - he does stare a lot.

“I’ve never-” Sakusa is flustered, this time. He can’t look at Osamu, it seems, and Osamu wants nothing more than to cup his cheek, his thumb tracing that high cheekbone, and softly whisper encouragements. He wants to reassure him, and he has to stop himself from thinking about how it would be to whisper that encouragement against Sakusa’s skin as they tangle themselves together in bedsheets. He has to stop before it gets out of hand.

“I’m a virgin.” The way Sakusa tries to sound nonchalant, but instead has red cheeks and a frown that would frighten a lesser man - it strikes a chord deep in Osamu’s chest. He watches for a moment, as he thinks about what Sakusa is asking from him. 

“Why me?”

“Because I want you. Isn’t that enough of a reason?”

Sakusa wants _him_ . Sakusa wants him to be his _first_. Sakusa wants Osamu to be the first one to touch him, to make him fall apart, to make him - Osamu cuts his train of thought off, again. He can’t deny that the thought sends a pulse of heat through him, that goes straight to his core and settles there, and he has to actively calm himself down in order not to embarrass himself in front of Sakusa with his eagerness. He refuses to get hard during this conversation.

Osamu mulls it over. He isn’t sure he wants this, but he knows that he’ll take any scrap that Sakusa offers him. He’s hopeless, like that. He’s drowning in Sakusa, in his murky proposition, and he wants and wants to be saved by him, too - except the rope that Sakusa throws him is more like a noose, and he’s condemning himself with every breath. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“ _Okay_ ,” Osamu says it firmer this time, but he can’t meet Sakusa’s eyes. He’s a little too ashamed of himself for that, but it’s clear to the both of them that he wants Sakusa - there’s no room for doubt in a situation like this. 

“Thank you for agreeing.” 

Osamu laughs a little to himself, but it’s cold - it sounds like Sakusa has offered him a business partnership, and it irks him. But Sakusa isn’t his, and likely never will be. “Any rules, Sakusa?”

“When we…” He trails off, his eyes trailing up and down Osamu’s form with a kind of hunger that Osamu has never seen in those obsidian eyes before. “...you have to call me by my name. No pet names, no _‘Sakusa’_. When you fuck me, I want you to use my name.”

“Kiyoomi.” The name feels foreign in his mouth, but it tastes good. Like stolen liquor, or candy that your mother said you can’t have, and it’s bittersweet how easily it falls through his lips.

“That’s the one.” Sakusa stares at him like he’s prey, and Osamu finds he doesn’t mind at all. “And also - I want you to fuck me, this time, but if we do this again-”

“Don’t worry about that right now. Let’s think about that when we get to it.” Osamu knows it’s stupid, but he doesn’t want to set boundaries with Sakusa. He wants the opportunity to steal moments that Sakusa shouldn’t allow him to take, because they didn’t set boundaries. He wants to be able to take and take, like Sakusa won’t notice he’s stealing from him.

Sakusa nods, and the agreement is made. 

Osamu feels dirty, afterwards. He isn’t - Sakusa pulls him into the shower almost as soon as they finish, and Osamu pretends not to feel his heart race as they wash each other’s bodies. He is embarrassed that the domesticity makes him hard again, but Osamu is pleasantly surprised by the sight of Sakusa on his knees in front of him. 

He isn’t sure how he’ll cope. 

Sakusa doesn’t comment on it and Osamu hopes he assumes that it’s just because they’re naked and touching each other, so of course he has a physical reaction. When really, he’s daydreaming about the man on his knees in front of him, sucking him off with the same kind of dedication that Osamu has seen him display on the court. He’s fucked, and he knows this is going to end badly, but as he watches Sakusa Kiyoomi swallow a mouthful of his cum with a smile, he can’t bring himself to care.

-

There’s something about the way they fall into bed that reminds Osamu of smoking. It’s a nagging, burning addiction that plays on his mind - all thoughts lead to Sakusa, and it’s like he’s an addict waiting for his next hit as he waits for Sakusa’s text to ask him to come round. He hates it when he gets a message, usually with a request of what Sakusa wants to try out in the bedroom that night, because he just ends up feeling used and tired, with the sheen of sweat covering his body doubling as a physical manifestation of his shame. 

He hates it more when Sakusa doesn’t contact him at all. He’s left needy and rejected, trying to push the tender feeling in his chest away as he touches himself in a way that would be regarded as a punishment by anyone else.

His self-assigned punishments make him cry, and he briefly considers recording himself for Sakusa’s pleasure, but second-guesses himself when he sobs, coming undone on his own fingers with a call of his name - _Kiyoomi, Kiyoomi please, I need this, I need you_ \- and letting the shame creep into the very core of his bones. He deletes the video. He wishes he could do the same for his feelings.

Osamu’s moping reaches its peak on a cold, November night. He gets the text from Sakusa, who isn’t asking for anything in particular for the night ahead of them. He’s fully aware that his feelings for Sakusa have grown less manageable. The high school crush no longer flushes his chest with nerves, but the adult feelings that brew inside of him make him ache with a kind of longing he’s never experienced before. He longs to be loved in return, but Osamu isn’t that hopeful - this whole situation was never designed to allow for the pair of them to grow into something more. They were meant to fuck and that’s it. 

Osamu is not nearly bold or stupid enough to call what he’s feeling ‘love’, but he knows he’s heading down that one-way road without any chance of return. Unless he calls it off.

So he does.

Miya Osamu, businessman, twin, former athlete - he may have a variety of talents and qualities, but what he doesn’t have is the ability to think of a better way to end this situation, this arrangement, that isn’t just ghosting Sakusa until he realises that Osamu isn’t interested (except he is, he really is).

It happens after the act. 

Osamu balls his fists at his sides, head leaning on the broad expanse of Sakusa’s chest as he breathes deeply. He wonders, for a second, if he fell asleep in Sakusa’s grip, would Sakusa wake him? Would Sakusa let him sleep? Would Sakusa wrap him up in the bed sheets they just fucked on? 

He wonders, but doesn’t allow his mouth to ask the burning questions. Instead, Osamu kisses the marks of deep purple and blue, left in the wake of Osamu’s teeth on freckled skin for weeks on end. Every time one fades, Osamu replaces it - it’s the only act of possessiveness that Osamu allows himself, and he pretends it’s because of the way Sakusa’s eyes roll back, his jaw falls open and his breath hitches each time Osamu sucks on the pale flesh. Osamu thinks Sakusa is beautiful, like this - pleasure taking over his body, allowing himself to _feel_ in ways he never has before. It’s this, this view of Sakusa feeling good under him, because of him, that Osamu keeps in mind as he silently promises himself will be the last time. 

Osamu cannot and will not fall for the man who sees him as nothing more than a booty call. Although there’s something Osamu doesn’t quite understand about Sakusa - starting with, but not limited to, why did he choose Osamu for this? - Osamu refuses to let himself inevitably get hurt by caring enough to ask. He doesn’t want to be the man that Sakusa has to let down gently, or the man that Sakusa slowly cuts out of his life. He would rather amputate the rotting, fleshy limb that is Sakusa from his body, deal with the phantom pains of missing him, and learn to get to grips without him being around. 

As he grazes his sharp canines against the bare flesh of Sakusa’s throat, he thinks about how it’s desire that brought them together, it’s convenience and lust and want - but it’s the possibility of wanting more than that, of wanting the softest moments together, that will pull them apart. 

Osamu leaves Sakusa’s penthouse that night, his shoulders heavy and his back aching with the bloody scratch marks that Sakusa has taken to covering him in. His mood is low, despite having cum more times in a row than he even thought was possible. He mourns for his high-school self, who he knows is passed out somewhere from the excitement of seeing Sakusa without his clothes on once again. He mourns for the naive boy who used to steal glances across the court, across the gym. He mourns for the man he was three months ago, right before Sakusa had dragged him down into the hellish pit of desire - it was simpler, then. Osamu didn’t have to fight every instinct he had, the ones that told him to turn around, to knock on Sakusa’s door and ask to fuck him into oblivion. 

He doesn’t do it. 

He doesn’t, even though he wishes above anything that he would. He wants to bury himself in Sakusa, but somehow it’s scarier that he doesn’t even necessarily mean sexually. He wants to fall asleep with their limbs tangled, with their hands clasped together, with their foreheads pressed against each other’s. He wants every sunset and sunrise, he wants every meal time, he wants to bicker about what they watch on TV at night. He wants and wants, like there’s nothing else for him to do. It’s painful, closing the chapter before it was written, and he wonders how long it’ll take for Sakusa to realise something is wrong. 

There’s another part of Osamu that worries - what if it doesn’t ever seem wrong to Sakusa? What if Sakusa neatly fills in the Osamu-shaped crack in his bedroom wall, painting over it with someone else’s body?

He can’t think about it anymore, and as he scrubs his skin with a kind of force he knows is coming from his inner turmoil, he tries to rid himself of any trace of Sakusa on his body. He winds up buffing his skin red raw in attempts to remove the last of Sakusa’s touch, but it feels like he’s been tainted, like he will never be truly free of Sakusa. A small part of him, the part of him that isn’t wounded, is happy that his touch will live on his skin forever.

-

 **From:** Sakusa Kiyoomi

 **Sent:** 11:32

Osamu?

Osamu ignores it. He wants to answer, but the obedient puppy part of him loses out to the wounded old dog - he wants to stop hurting, more than he wants to roll over at the call of his name.

**From:** Sakusa Kiyoomi

 **Sent:** 12:57

Has something happened?

**From:** Sakusa Kiyoomi

 **Sent:** 12:57

At least let me know that you’re alright.

Osamu sends Atsumu a video of a particularly portly pigeon sat outside the front door of the shop. It isn’t for Sakusa’s benefit, he tells himself, but if Atsumu shows Sakusa, it can’t be helped.

**From:** Sakusa Kiyoomi

 **Sent:** 13:12

I don’t know what’s up with you, but I hope we’re okay.

Osamu is a little frustrated it takes Sakusa so long to get the hint. He isn’t sure if Sakusa keeps texting him on purpose, making it impossible for Osamu to forget him, but either way it just _hurts_ and he wishes it wouldn’t.

He doesn’t even get peace when he sees his brother - it’s all ‘Omiomi’ this, ‘Kiyoomi-kun’ that - and Osamu grits his teeth, smiling and laughing like he isn’t wishing for the ground to swallow him whole. 

**From:** Sakusa Kiyoomi

 **Sent:** 16:34

I miss your cooking.

**From:** Sakusa Kiyoomi

 **Sent:** 18:43

Did I do something wrong?

_No, you didn’t. That’s the worst part of all of this._

**From:** Don’t Answer

 **Sent:** 22:23

Nothing feels good without you anymore.

The admission makes Osamu feel ashamed and turned on - he isn’t sure which is worse, as he lays back in bed and wonders if Sakusa is thinking about him the way he thinks about Sakusa. He comes undone, spilling over himself with unbearable guilt settling inside him. He hates how he knows he won’t get over Sakusa any time soon, but he supposes he deserves it for ending things in the most cowardly of ways.

**From:** Don’t Answer

 **Sent:** 22:54

I shouldn’t have said that, I apologise. Enjoy your night.

**From:** Don’t Answer

 **Sent:** 10:34

Your brother overlay again. Did you not grow up with an alarm clock?

That one almost makes him laugh, but it’s bittersweet, just like so many things with Kiyoomi are. He still doesn’t answer.

**From:** Don’t Answer

 **Sent:** 14:43

I was going to stop by for lunch, but I wasn’t sure if that was okay.

Osamu sends the team free food the next day. He makes sure that there’s chazuke on one side for Sakusa. Osamu pretends he would do it for anyone.

He doesn’t talk to anyone that isn’t his brother, or his parents, or occasionally Aran or Kita, for weeks. It isn’t intentional, but it does make things easier when Osamu barely checks his phone. He isn’t waiting for that text from Sakusa, anymore - except he is, and he doesn’t want to find out why it hurts so much when they stop coming through. He wonders if he accidentally blocked Sakusa’s number, at first, but he checks - nope, Sakusa just isn’t contacting him anymore. 

Osamu is angry at himself, when he realises he misses each text despite how painful they were at the time. He’s frustrated that Sakusa has done exactly what Osamu was leading him to do - but why would Sakusa act any differently? They weren’t boyfriends, and even lovers is too strong a word for the two of them, so why should Osamu feel like he was entitled to some big scene, where Sakusa tries to win him back?

Nothing happens, for weeks. And Osamu should be happy about it, except he isn’t. He isn’t at all.

-

He’s awake. Osamu lays awake in his bed, sheets pulled up over his shoulders as he stares at the window. It’s a cold, December morning, and there’s nothing Osamu wants to do less than cross the town and open up shop for the day. 

He’s dragged out of his moping in bed by a pounding on his front door. It scares the life out of him for a moment, as he sits up in bed to gather his bearings for a second. Pulling on a sweatshirt, he covers himself up enough to answer the door to his twin, groaning and grumbling.

“Why are you banging on my door loud enough to wake the dead?”

“Just checking if you’ve forgotten what the concept of communication is on the whole, or if it’s just your phone you can’t answer.” There’s no malice to Atsumu’s words, but that doesn’t mean the blond isn’t judging him still. 

“I must have forgotten to charge it before I went to sleep.”

“Sure you did.” Atsumu helps himself to coffee, not looking at his brother as he fixes it the way he likes it. Two lumps of sugar and a heavy dash of milk, it’s much too sweet for Osamu’s bitter taste. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Osamu mutters it, but Atsumu hears it anyway. Osamu regrets it as soon as Atsumu sets his mug down a little too forcefully on the countertop. 

“Oh, _nothing_ .” Atsumu looks at him, eyes narrowed. “And by nothing, I mean _you broke my fucking spiker_.”

Osamu says nothing, defensive as he furrows his brows at Atsumu. “Huh?”

“You heard me. I gave Kiyoomi-kun your number, doing you a favour, everything was going fine, but now Omiomi won’t hit my tosses because he can’t _look at me_.”

“And you assume this is because of me, why?” Osamu decides to play dumb. He should have known it wouldn’t work. His brother knows him too well for that. 

“Oh, maybe because he looked like he’d been mauled half to death with the amount of hickeys on him, right after I gave him _your_ number, and now he has _no_ hickeys and won’t look at me. And before you ask why I said that again, maybe think about the fact _we have the same fucking face_.”

Osamu says nothing, because there’s nothing for him to say in response to the scolding. Atsumu is right, which already pisses Osamu off, and the rest of his anger comes from Sakusa letting this affect the team. They hadn’t agreed on it explicitly, but surely it was an unspoken part of their ‘arrangement’. Surely, it was obvious that they weren’t supposed to let this get out of hand. It only reinforced his frustrations, convincing Osamu that he was right all along.

“What do you want from me, Atsumu?”

“I want you to give me my spiker back. Fix it, whatever it is.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Oh yeah? Well, just what exactly is it that’s stopping you? Why can’t you carry on the way you were before?”

“Because I’m in love with him, you fucking _idiot_ , and I can’t bear it that he doesn’t feel the same way.” 

There’s silence in the small area of Osamu’s kitchen. Osamu doesn’t realise how upset he is until he feels cold drips of salty tears hit the table, splashing a little. 

Atsumu says nothing to comfort him, but pulls his twin into a hug so tight and warm it rivals their mother’s. 

“I love him, Atsumu.” 

“I know.”

“What do I do? I didn’t mean to mess up the team, I swear-” 

“I know, stupid. The only thing you can do is talk to him. And - look, even if this doesn’t go well, I’ll still appreciate the fact you tried.”

“Okay.” Osamu’s voice is small as he cries a little into his brother’s chest. It hurts. It hurts so fucking bad. He wants it to stop, but the only way for this pain to end is to see Sakusa, and he isn’t totally sure how he’ll manage that when the thought of being in the same room makes his head spin and his heart hurt.

Atsumu leaves for practice with the promise of plans that weekend, whether Osamu gets his heart broken or not. Osamu thinks it’s nice, for a moment, to have been born with a best friend. He thinks about all the times Atsumu has been there for him, and chastises himself for thinking this would be any different. 

Osamu chooses to try.

-

He’s downstairs in the parking garage of a fancy apartment building, where he’s been so many times before, and he’s nearly on the edge of tears. 

Osamu wants this to end up like a fairytale. He knows it won’t. 

He puts one foot in front of the other, muscle memory carrying him up and up the stairwell. He wonders if he should have brought something else with him - maybe wine? - but he disregards that thought. The umeboshi chazuke he made for Sakusa earlier will have to do. Osamu isn’t here to seduce Sakusa, he’s here to talk. Finally. 

This might be the first honest conversation they have about their feelings, and he doesn’t want to dull his senses and numb the pain with alcohol. He needs to remember this. 

Osamu is outside Sakusa’s front door, quicker than he would have liked. His heart is pounding, his palms are awfully clammy and he’s a little too aware that he isn’t having a good hair day. He wonders if Sakusa will even be home, but doesn’t want to entertain the idea he’s out doing God-knows-what with God-knows-who. 

He knocks on the door, chest heavy with the crushing weight of his anxiety, and he waits.

Sakusa isn’t expecting him.

Osamu knows that, because he didn’t call him. He didn’t text him to warn him he’ll be right over. He didn’t let him know that they were about to have a conversation that was months overdue. 

This is especially clear when Sakusa opens the door. He’s clad in a shirt that Osamu is almost certain belongs to him, his hair is pushed back with a towel headband of pink and white, complete with a bow, there’s some kind of facemask smoothed over his skin. Other than his house slippers, he’s not wearing much else.

It makes Osamu’s heart ache. 

It makes Sakusa slam the door in Osamu’s face.

“Sakusa-”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Sakusa hisses through the door, and Osamu recognises that the malice is a front to hide the embarrassment. 

Osamu tries not to embarrass him further. “We need to talk. I brought you some food. Umeboshi chazuke?”

“Talk, then. And thanks? I think?”

“No. We’re not having this conversation through your door, like this is some shitty movie.” Osamu is firm, but not rude. He knows Sakusa understands where he’s coming from. “Open up, Sakusa.”

There’s silence, but Osamu hears a shaky sigh on the other side of the door. 

Osamu knows Sakusa is weighing it up in his head, so he pleads again. It’s softer this time. “Kiyoomi, please.”

There’s a deeper sigh, before the latch un-clicks and the door opens a little. Sakusa lets him in. Osamu is grateful, taking off his shoes and sliding on the slippers that had unofficially become his. He tried not to think about how much time they had spent together so that he had his own drawer, his own slippers, his own shelf in the bathroom cabinet. He leaves the tupperware box of food on the side; he needs to focus on the difficult task at hand.

“Sit. Wait here.” Sakusa’s tone is firm, and Osamu just nods in return. He takes the seat Sakusa offers him, his leg bouncing as he waits. Sakusa sneaks off to his bathroom, and a few minutes later he returns. His face is scrubbed clean, he’s wearing pajama pants, but his black curls are still pushed back off of his forehead with the headband. It makes Osamu’s heart warm as he watches Sakusa take a seat. 

“So. Why do you want to talk now? You’ve been ignoring me for weeks.”

Osamu feels the question stab him, icy cold and sharp, as he ponders the answer. He knows being honest is the best option. “We need to sort things out.”

“What are ‘things’? I was under the impression that there were no ‘things’ with us anymore.”

“Can you stop trying to pick a fight with me for a second? Jeez.” Osamu sighs, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “It wasn’t fair to keep going like we were.”

“So you cut me off? No, actually - you _ghosted_ me. That’s worse.”

“No, I cut myself off from you. I couldn’t…” Osamu trails off, frustrated at being unable to voice his thoughts clearly. “How could I keep sleeping with you, when I wanted so much more?”

This shuts Sakusa up. Osamu sees his eyes of obsidian widen, and hears his breath hitch in his throat.

“Sakusa, I’ve been crushing on you since we were in high school, right? And then you join the same team as my brother, which is great. We become not-quite friends, we talk. Then, you ask me to fuck you and there is no way at all that I could possibly refuse, because I don’t want to say no. I want to say yes. I want to have sex with you, I want to kiss you, I want to be the only one you want. But I still want more, you know? I want to come home and cook for you. I want to do your laundry, I want to hold you at night even though you’re always cold and you put your freezing feet on mine and it makes me want to shove you out of bed. I want the whole nine yards with you, Sakusa, but I’m not selfish enough to ask you for it when I’m the one with the problem.” Osamu rants. It’s rare for him to have an outburst in this way, and rarer still for his frustrations not to be aimed at his twin. It’s cathartic to wax poetic about his feelings, though, and he would carry on if it weren’t for the look of horror gracing Sakusa’s features. 

“You… you like me?” Sakusa mutters, his eyes narrowing as he isn’t quite sure whether to believe Osamu or not.

“Yes. Sorry.”

“Ugh, don’t apologise.” Sakusa shakes his head. He inches a tiny bit closer, likely without realising, but Osamu notices. “Just- you aren't just saying this as an excuse, right?”

“What kind of shitty excuse for ghosting you would this be?”

“The shittiest. Which is why I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Fuck you.” Osamu’s laughing a little now, a tiny smile on his lips. He had missed Sakusa’s snark.

Sakusa doesn’t say anything in return, but he’s studying Osamu closely. Osamu has to look away, because Sakusa’s gaze is so intense that he can’t quite bear it. He feels bare under Sakusa’s eyes, like he’s being exposed for the world to see. Or maybe, just for Sakusa. But really, aren’t they the same thing?

“Okay.”

“Huh?” Osamu’s the confused one now. His eyebrows pull together in a frown as he looks at Sakusa, head tilting to one side curiously. 

“Okay, let’s date. Or whatever it was you weren’t letting yourself ask me.”

“You want to date me?”

“You’re impossible.” Sakusa rolls his eyes, but he inches closer again. He swings his legs over Osamu’s legs, sitting perpendicular to him, and sighs a little. “You’re not the only one who hides their feelings, you know.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, dumbass, that I’ve liked you since we met and you were ugly crying about not playing volleyball anymore. Maybe even before then, but who cares? Now, are you my boyfriend or what? I’m sick of moping around about you.”

“Boyfriend?”

“God, you really are an idiot.”

-

Osamu feels like the next few days pass in a blur. Like there’s no slowing the world down as he tries to process the fact that he’s dating Sakusa Kiyoomi. His high school self is passed out somewhere, feeling very overwhelmed with the situation. 

Osamu, in the present, is sitting on his own couch with one hand nursing a beer, and the other hand playing with Sakusa’s hair gently. Sakusa has taken to leaning his head in the curve of Osamu’s shoulder, and Osamu will never let on just how much he likes it. That piece of information can stay a secret.

The fact that this is happening a mere few days after Osamu’s outburst in Sakusa’s apartment still stuns him a little when he thinks about it. It makes him feel warm inside, that he likes Sakusa and is liked back. Sakusa Kiyoomi, ice prince, who acts like a standoffish and bitchy yet cuddly and warm kitten. Osamu gets to call him his boyfriend without any worry at all. 

“‘Samu, I’m getting another beer,” Atsumu pipes up, standing from his spot in the chair by the television. His usual annoying face softens as his gaze lands on Kita, who’d graciously agreed to spend time with the twins and Sakusa. “Do you want another drink getting? I don’t mind at all.”

Kita drains the last of his beer. Osamu and Sakusa share a glance - _oh boy, how can Atsumu not tell that Kita is disgustingly in love with him?_ “Sure, I’ll come with you.”

Osamu had known Kita would agree before he even asked - although Atsumu might be bad at understanding Kita reciprocates his feelings, it didn’t mean anyone else wouldn’t notice. If even Sakusa was picking up on it, despite not knowing Kita all that well, it just proved how hopelessly oblivious Atsumu was to the feelings he shared with Kita.

“Was I as bad as ‘Tsumu? Please tell me I wasn’t.” Osamu whispers against the shell of Sakusa’s ear.

“No, you weren’t.” Sakusa sighs, but Osamu notices the playful glimmer in his dark eyes and knows he’s about to be on the receiving end of Sakusa’s sharp wit. He doesn’t really mind, though, when it almost certainly leads to some heavy flirting later on when it’s just the two of them. “You were much, much worse. You couldn’t tell that I liked you even though we-”

“Gross. Can you guys not discuss sexy stuff in front of me, please? My innocent ears, jeez.” Atsumu returns, and Osamu notices the way Kita’s hand is hovering over Atsumu’s back protectively, but not quite daring to touch. 

“There’s nothing innocent about your ears, Atsumu, or the rest of you.” Kita’s voice is low, but manages to cut through the rest of the noise in the room. Atsumu flushes a deep red, and Osamu makes a mental note to corner his twin later on and demand to know _what the fuck is going on_. 

Osamu notices Sakusa sneak him a glance, eyebrow cocked, and Osamu squeezes his hand in a silent promise to share the secrets later.

Osamu clears his throat, sitting up in his seat slightly. “...Anyway,” he begins, looking at each of the people in the room for a brief moment. 

He isn’t good with expressing his feelings, but he wants to make sure that those closest to him realise how he feels - if Sakusa has taught him anything, it’s to be more honest about his feelings.

“I just want to say thank you to all of you for hanging out tonight. Also, thank you ‘Tsumu for giving me the kick up my ass I needed to sort things with Sakusa. I wouldn’t have done it without you and your meddling.” 

Atsumu responds with a mock bow and the tipping of a pretend hat, dorky and silly as ever.

“Kita, thank you for always keeping me and ‘Tsumu in line, and for bringing a case of beer even though you really didn’t have to. It means a lot to still have you around.”

Kita’s smile is warm, and Osamu pretends he doesn’t see his brother staring at their former captain like he’s hanging the stars in the sky. 

“And you,” Osamu shifts his gaze to Sakusa, smiling a little. “Thank you, Sakusa, for giving me the chance to make this right. I appreciate you, and also - make the most of this sappy speech, because it’s the last you’ll get from me. Now, everyone - cheers!”

Osamu gives Sakusa a peck on the cheek as the four of them clink their bottles of beer together, smiling a little as he does so. He remains happy in the knowledge that he is Sakusa’s, and Sakusa is his to love in return.

**Author's Note:**

> hi iris! 
> 
> i feel very lucky to have ended up with you as my recipient for UTB secret santa. thank you for having excellent taste in ships and tropes, this honestly was a blast to write (thank you for giving me the opportunity to write for these two).
> 
> merry christmas and ily <3
> 
> thanks again to chi, tae and jane for helping me out when i lost my mind over this jksdhfsjk
> 
> find me on twitter (@bluenimi) or discord (effie#4262) <3


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